Chapter Seven
Max’s gorge rose up, all but choking him.
Blood was everywhere. He breathed it in the air, saw it pouring across the carpet, and he swore he could hear it in his haggard breath.
His body shuddered with horror, and yet he couldn’t make himself move.
Yihui had collapsed at his feet. He should pick her up.
He should do any number of things, but the blood… The knife… The dead…
What was he supposed to do?
“Chiverton!” his mother called. “Why is everyone standing there?”
Embarrassing that his mother’s voice was the one thing that could break him from his frozen shock. Max whipped around and pointed directly at his butler. “Keep her away!”
His butler blinked, snapped his arms to his sides in a butler salute, then turned immediately to the side. “Your Grace, pray allow me to bring you some soothing tea. Things are about to get very upsetting, and you really shouldn’t be in the thick of it.”
Things were about to get upsetting? Max looked to the lovely yellow counterpane that his mother had bought in Yorkshire.
With barely a grunt of regret, he stripped it off the bed.
The fabric would be soaked through in a moment, but he had to cover the mandarin with something. God, how much blood was in a body?
“Max, Mother is very distraught…” His sister’s voice wavered as she spoke. “Oh heavens. Oh… Oh…”
He looked up to see his sister’s blanched face as she stood in the doorway. Damnation, he hadn’t wanted her to see this. As fast as possible, he threw the coverlet over the body.
“Emmaline—” he began, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. The two of them had always relied upon each other, but this… This was something he wanted to spare her.
She visibly started at her name, and then their gazes met across the room. “Is she…?”
“What?”
“How many b-bodies, Max?” she whispered.
It took him a moment to understand her question, but then his sluggish brain finally caught up. “She passed out.”
Guilt washed through him. He should have been worried about her. He was worried about her, but he’d never seen… He’d never…
“We need another room for her,” he said as he squatted down. He didn’t want to hurt Yihui as he lifted her up. He gathered her gently into his arms. This time he felt the dead weight of her and worry all but choked him.
“She can have my bed,” his sister said. “And, um, perhaps Kimberly could help?”
Lady Kimberly here? In this? Good God, no!
She must have read his expression because she shook her head.
“With Miss…with the woman,” she said pointing to Miss Wong’s feet.
“That doesn’t look good. And, um, Kimberly has helped with medical…
um… things.” She swallowed and took a step forward, but Max stopped her.
He didn’t want his sister one step closer to this disaster.
“Your room,” he said. He settled Yihui in his arms. He didn’t even know her full name!
What was wrong with him? Engaged by royal decree and he didn’t know what to call her.
These were the thoughts that circled through his head as he tried to distract himself.
She was covered in blood, and he was little better.
Everything he wore would need to be burned.
He felt her breath against his neck and felt better.
Then he saw her deformed feet in the mirror.
Thank God she was insensate. She’d told him that they’d broken her feet, but somehow the reality of it was so much worse.
He couldn’t imagine what she’d suffered on the boat.
She had literally twisted a knife in the mandarin’s chest. What would push a person to do such a thing?
He straightened to his full height before he realized that three footmen stood in the doorway like frozen trees.
“Rees, bring water and towels to Emmaline’s bedroom. Mitchell, ask Lady Kimberly if she would assist. Atkins, send someone for a doctor and then find the Watch.”
Emmaline twisted around to stare at him. “The Watch? Must we? Half the ton is strolling outside. And the rest will be knocking within the hour!”
Did she think this could be hushed over quietly? “There are rules, Em. When a Chinese delegate dies in your bedroom, the rules must be followed!” And those rules included calling law enforcement. In London, that meant summoning the Watch, as they were the ones who policed the city.
She nodded as she backed out down the hallway. “Of course,” she muttered half to herself, half to him. “You’re right, of course. We must do this properly.”
As if there were a proper way to handle this!
He cradled Yihui close, taking care as he maneuvered her out of the bedroom. He didn’t want to bang her feet and, truthfully, he had no idea if she had other injuries. What had she suffered?
He settled her head against his shoulder. Tenderness suffused him. He grabbed onto that emotion. He needed it as a buffer against the ugly feelings still roiling within him. Better to make sure she was properly cared for than allow guilt and horror to drown him.
A few more steps, and he was inside Emmaline’s bedroom.
Then he lay Yihui down gently, wincing as he saw blood smear across the rose counterpane.
He adjusted her head on the pillow and gently tugged her black hair aside.
Long thick strands, silky soft against the linen.
She must have discarded her beaded headpiece when she washed away the make-up.
There was blood on her skin now, a dark smear that he tried to wipe away with his handkerchief. It didn’t work because there was blood on his own hands, smears on his white handkerchief, and…
He swallowed and shoved those thoughts aside.
She was a beautiful woman, he realized. Her face was a well-formed oval, her nose nicely rounded at the tip, and her mouth had a sweet bow shape magnified by the red paint still on her lips.
She had been sorely used, and he vowed to do everything in his power to see that she was taken care of going forward.
He didn’t examine this overwhelming vow.
He needed it to focus his thoughts. He was her rescuer from a horrendous situation.
That was a noble role for him, one that fit his youthful fantasies, where he’d been a pirate captain rescuing a Chinese princess.
Indeed, it gave him the energy to face the next few hours.
He was no longer the victim of international politics and a prince’s whims. He was an active participant in the world around him.
One who was determined to protect an innocent girl now under his care.
That was what he chose to do. This was his decision in a life that was restricted on every side. And in this way, he found control.
“My lord?” a female voice interrupted. It was Mrs. Pizzi their housekeeper. “If you could step away for a moment, we can make her more comfortable.”
He looked over his shoulder. Mrs. Pizzi was followed by his sister’s maid who carried a large tub of water and several linens.
Nodding, he stepped back from the bed, though his hand stayed as long as possible on Yihui’s arm. “Thank you, Mrs. Pizzi. Be as gentle as you can.”
“Of course, my lord—”
“Did you call a doctor?” Lady Kimberly interrupted as she stepped into the room.
Max winced at the woman’s clipped tone. “Yes—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Best to call a surgeon. The doctor won’t be able to do anything with those feet.”
His attention abruptly sharpened on her. “Why would you say that?” he demanded. Yihui deserved the best treatment he could afford. And he could afford a very great deal.
“Because surgeons handle broken bones. And those feet…” She shook her head. “If she were a horse or even a dog, we would have to—”
“She’s not an animal!”
Lady Kimberly shot him a frustrated look. “No, she’s a woman who will want to walk again. Best get a surgeon who has seen many injured laborers. People who must walk again or starve. How many broken bones does a doctor see in his day?”
Not many. Doctors treated agues and the vague ailments of the aristocracy. And though they knew how to set bones, Kimberly was right. A surgeon set many bones every week. And he would also know if the damage were too severe, and amputation was the only way to prevent death.
He didn’t want to imagine it. Indeed, he couldn’t force himself to contemplate the possibility, but he would not compromise care just because he felt squeamish at the thought. Looking over Lady Kimberly’s shoulder, he gestured to Chiverton who hovered in the hallway.
“Send a footman to whomever Lady Kimberly suggests.”
“Immediately, my lord,” Chiverton said. “And the Watch has arrived, as well as several guests. Visitors, my lord, to see the duchess.”
Gawkers, gossips, and snoops. “Send them away. Tell them Her Grace is not well.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Max straightened his jacket while his thoughts finally dropped into order. “I’ll see the Watch in the Library.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And when my father arrives, do not under any circumstance allow him upstairs. Not yet.”
At the mention of his father, every soul in the room gulped audibly.
Not a one of them had realized that his father would descend on the household the moment he heard of the commotion.
As the head of the conservative party, his father would be the first to be told of any royal gossip.
He would have learned of Max’s impromptu engagement and be headed here in fury.
Especially since he was the one who had declared that Max marry Kimberly, the daughter of his closest political ally.
The man would likely come home in a rage. No one wanted him to arrive to find the Watch in their home and a bloody corpse upstairs. Though how they were going to prevent that was beyond him.
Either way, it was up to Max to manage it. Meanwhile, Emmaline looked like she was going to be ill.
“It’s all I can do to keep Mama out of it,” she whispered. “Papa’s going to have an apoplexy.”
Not if Max could help it. He squeezed his sister’s arm as if she were his compatriot in a war, and indeed, they both felt as such.
“Leave Papa to me.” He looked to their butler.
“Chiverton, send another footman to the House of Lords. Have him suggest, delicately of course, that Mama is overwrought, and father should take dinner at his club.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Emma met his gaze with a shrug. “It might work.”
It wouldn’t. The man was already on his way home, but it was the only play Max had. And with that thoroughly depressing thought, Max squared his shoulders and headed for the stairs. Best not to look in the guest bedroom. Best not to smell the air. Best not to remember—
But he did. And in that moment, his sister caught his elbow.
“Max!” she cried. “Max!”
He blinked, startled to realize that she’d had to call him several times. “Yes?”
“Before you see the Watch,” she said gesturing at him.
“What?”
“Max, look at yourself! You need to change your clothes before you go downstairs. Mama’s visitors are still there.”
He looked down at his blood-stained clothing. Was that what was important now? Changing his clothes instead of seeing to the dead Chinese official or finding out if the lady would have her feet amputated? Splotches of blood on his—
“You wore those clothes yesterday and it shows.”
No, that wasn’t in the least bit important now, but it was what had to be managed. Everything must be done in the proper order, after all. With a clipped jerk of his chin, he headed to his bedroom. Then he stopped and snapped his fingers at the nearest footman.
“Send another footman for Lord Benedict. Emphasize that it’s urgent.”
If Max had to deal with the Watch and his father, then he’d damn well have Lord Benedict standing beside him. And the man had better know something about Chinese politics.
“Right away,” Chiverton said with a bow while Max headed straight for his bedroom.
His valet met him the moment he entered the bedroom. “Quickly, my lord. Your clothes are ready, and I’ve got everything prepared for a shave as well.”
Of course, he did. Because clearing off his whiskers would magically save the day.
Max had barely stripped out of his jacket when he heard the front door open. The bellow carried through the air a moment later. “Where the devil is my idiot son?”
“I’m right here, Father, washing blood off my hands,” he muttered. Then he stretched his chin toward his valet. “Shave as quick as you can. Just don’t slice my throat.”
He’d leave that honor to his father.